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A Book of Poems 

WRITTEN AND COMPILED BY 

The Rev. Jacob Walters 




Florence, South Carolina 
1922 



A BOOK OF 

POEMS 

WRITTEN AND COMPILED BY 

The Rev. Jacob Walters 

Florence, South Carolina 
1922 



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Copyrijzht by 

Rev. Jacob Walters 

1922 






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Dedication 

To my wife who has 
shared with me the trials 
and the joys of my min- 
isterial life, this little vol- 
ume of poems is affection- 
ately dedicated by 



The Author 



FOREWORD 

I have written and compiled these 
poems at different times with a desire 
to he an inspiration and a comfort to 
others. I have given due credit to 
authors of poem si written hi/ others 
than myself. 

In this world of sin and sorrow it 
hehooves everyone to do all the good 
possible . I send these poems forth, 
praying that, through the hlessing of 
our Heavenly Father, they may cheer 
many weary ones along life's rugged 
road. 

The Author. 



' Farewell to the Farm 

The coach is at the door at last; 
The eager children, mounting fast 
And kissing hands, in chorus sing: 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

To house and garden, field and lawn. 
The meadow-gates we swang upon, 
To pump and stable, tree and swing, 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

And fare-you-well for evermore, 
O ladder at the hayloft door, 
O hayloft where the cobwebs cling, 
Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! 

Crack goes the whip, and off we go; 
The trees and hotises smaller grow; 
Last, round the woody turn we swing. 
Good-bye, good-bye to everything. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



Our Soldier Dead 

The cruel war has ended, 

The foe has turned and fled, 

No more the air is rended, 
In stillness sleep the dead. 

No call disturbs their slumbers 
Though all the peaceful night, 

No foe augments their numbers 
At early dawning light. 

Their country's call they heeded. 
To strike with free men's might; 

To give their lives where needed, 
And fell for freemen's right. 

The snow will softly cover 

The long, long rows of mounds. 

And breath of Spring will hover. 
Above these hallowed grounds. 

A nation mourns their falling. 

And tears bedim the eye; 
While grief our hearts appalling. 

We honor where they lie. 

— Edmund Spencer AUhandji. 



A Prayer 



Father, I need Thee every hour 
In this vile world of sin; 
Keep me by Thy grace and power, 
Help me the prize to win. 

I'm sinful, Lord? and need thy grace 
To walk the narrow road; 
I want to run and win the race. 
That leads me up to God. 

I come to Thee for grace to bear 

My trials and my grief; 

At Thy blessed throne I would apoear? 

And find a sweet relief. 

I need Thy grace the cross to bear. 
While in this world below; 
Father! I count all things but dross 
If I, Thyself may know. 



There Is No Night in Heaven 

In that blessed Home far, far away. 
The mansions bright and fair, 
It's never night, but always day 
Because the Lord is there. 



In that blessed Home we'll live again. 
From sin and sorrow free; 
And with the Lord forever reign 
Through all eternity. 

We hope to meet each other in 
That happy home above; 
And in that Land where is no sin, 
To live with God who's love. 

And when we've reached the glory Land 
And all our task is done. 
It's then we'll join the ransomed band 
And worship 'round the throne. 

O, blessed hope, O, joyful thought. 

The christian's staff and rod 

While journeying thence where storms 

are not. 
The City of our God. 



O, Wonderful Words of Jesus 

O, wonderful words of Jesus, 
They tell of the Father's love; 
They tell of the blessed redeemer 
Who came from the courts above. 



O, wonderful words of Jesus, 
They have power to bless and to save: 
For they tell how he died upon Calvary? 
And rose again from the grave. 

O, wonderful words of Jesus, 
They tell of that home on high, 
Where we WILL LIVE in joy forever 
With angels beyond the sky. 

O, wonderful words of Jesus' 
I love them more 'and more? 
And will follow the light of their teach- 
ing 
Till I reach the heavenly shore. 

And when in the mansions of glory 
Where no sorrow comes to the soul? 
I will sing and shout the glad story 
While the years of eternity roll. 



In That Blessed Home 

In that blessed Home to which we go. 
No sorrow there we e'er shall know; 
For, there all tears are wiped away, 
And there is one eternal day. 

There we shall meet our friends, be- 
loved, 
In that bright, happy Home above; 
And there on that Celestial Shore 
We'll dwell with them forever more. 

In that blessed Home there's room for 

all. 
Who heed the Master's loving call; 
And there the Saviour's face may see 
And with Him spend eternity. 

There we shall walk the streets of gold, 
And re.st secure in Jesus' fold; 
Freed from all sorrows, grief and pain, 
We, there with Christ shall ever reign. 



In the Resurection Morning 

In the Resurection morning, 

At the coming of the Lord, 

We shall hear the trumpet sounding 

"We shall harken to his word. 



Then we'll rise o'er death triumphant 
And will join the happy throng 
Of the saints of every nation. 
As they sing their glorious song. 

Then we'll meet the Lord in glory. 
And will joyfully sing 
Grave, O, Grave, where is thy vict'ry, 
Death. O, death, where is thy sting? 

Then we'll meet our loved and lost ones 
In the Land of pure delight. 
Where no sorrow ever cometh. 
But where all is fair and bright. 



Go, Tell the Story 

Go, you forth and tell the story 
Of the Saviour from above. 
Who did leave his home in glory. 
Moved by his eternal love. 

Tell to all of the dear Saviour, 
Who did die on Calvary, 
That the lost mfght have God's favor 
Now and in eternity. 

Tell them that he rose triumphant; 
And that now the saints can sing, 
"Grave, O, grave, where is thy vict'ry'.' 
Death, O death, where is thy sting? 

Tell them that he reigns in Heaven, 

And to him the angels bow; 

That he's now our mediator 

Go, and speak this message now. 

Haste you, for it is God's power 
Sent to save the World from sin; 
Haste you now, for at this hour 
You, some precious soul may win. 



Our Flag 



Our dear old flag, how we love it, 
'Tis the the flag of liberty; 
There's none that we prize above it; 
Our flag it shall ever be. 

For it teaches us our duty 

The duty of sacrifice 

For it speaks to us by its beauty 

And tells us of freedom's price. 

And its beautiful stripes of white, 
The emblem of purity 
Speaks to all of justice and right 
The heritage of the free. 

Its stars united together 

In a field of royal blue? 

Says to all men? we are brothers: 

This is the ideal for you. 

May this dear flag forever wave 
O'er every sea and land 
Till all the race, from tyrants free? 
Is in one happy band. 



Heaven 

We sing of Heaven, our Beulah Land, 
Where friends long parted meet again; 
And there with saints and angels stand; 
And with the Christ forever reign. 

We sing of Heaven our Home on high 
And long to rest upon its Shore; 
To reach that Land where none can die. 
And be with Christ forever more. 

Our Saviour's there; we'll see his face, 
And in His beauty we shall shine; 
We'll talk of all His wondrous love, 
And of His glory so divine. 

And when we've reached that home on 

high. 
Where pains and sorrows are unknown. 
We'll join with saints in songs of lovG 
To Him who sits upon the throne. 



Jesus, I Am Coming to Thee 

Jesus, my Saviour, I'm coming to thee, 
Tiiat thou mayest cleanse me within; 
I am wretched and vile, but thine would 

I be, ' 

Oh take me and save me from sin. 

I am coming to thee, O, Saviour divine, 
That thou mayest guide me aright; 
Lead me to mansions that shall ever be 

mine 
In the Land where cometh no night. 

I am coming to thee who died on the 

cross, 
That thy grace and love I may know. 
For, the riches of Earth are nothing 

but dross. 
And vain are the pleasures below. 

I am coming to thee to live and to die 

In service delightfully sweet; 

And when thou callest me to mansions 

on high, 
I will cast my crown at thy feet. 



We Will Trust in Jesus 

We'll trust in Jesus day by day 
And follow him along the way 
To heavenly mansions up on high 
Where we shall see him by and by. 

We'll love and serve him here below, 
And then to that bright World we'll go 
And live with him forever more 
Upon that peaceful, happy shore. 

He died for us that we might be 
With him through all eternity: 
How sweet the fellowship above 
Where all is peace and joy and love. 

He walks with us along the road 
And always helps us bear our load; 
But when on Earth we've run our race 
How sweet 'twill be to see his face. 



I Have a Home Above 

I have a home above, 

A mansion bright and fair 

Where all is peace and joy and love, 

Because the Lord is there. 

In that blessed home on high, 
Where sorrows are unknown, 
The Christ, my Lord is ever nigh 
To those he calls his own. 

There I shall see the face 

Of him who died for me. 

And talk of all his wond'rous grace 

Through vast eternity. 

In that bright, happy home 

I'll meet my friends again; 

And worship him who bade me come. 

The lamb for sinners slain. 



We are Pilgrims, on a Journey 

We are pilgrims, on a journey 
To our Heavenly Home above, 
Where we'll live in peace forever, 
In that Land of light and love. 

To that Home of many mansions 
We are traveling day by day, 
And our Saviour walks beside us. 
And He guides us all the way. 

Here we meet with many trials 
In this world of sin and woe; 
But we're going on to glory 
Where no sorrow we shall know. 

Here we've no abiding city, 
But we seek the one to come; 
And we're going on to Heaven, 
On to our eternal Home. 

Soon we'll pass within the portals. 
Soon our pilgrimage will cease. 
Then we'll walk and talk with Jesus 
In that Land of perfect peace. 



Home 



Home's not merely four square walls, 
Though with pictures hung and gild- 
ed: 
Home is where affection calls — 

Filled with shrines the heart has 
builded! 

Home! Go watch the faithful dove 
Sailing 'neath the heaven above us: 

Home is where there's one to love! 
Home is where there's one to love us! 

Home's not merely roof and room — 
It needs something to endear it: 

Home is where the heart can bloom. 
Where there's some kind lip to cheer 
it. 

What is home with none to meet, 
None to welcome, none to greet us? 

Home is sweet, and only sweet, 

Where there's one who loves to meet 
us. 

— Charles Swaine. 



The Tree in Winter 

The tree was cold, the tree was bare. 

She shivered in, the frosty air. 

Then she called to her friend, the dear 

kind May, 
"O bring me a leafy robe, I pray!" 

But the spring had journeyed far away, 
And would not return for many a day: 
So old Jack Frost, that good little elf. 
Said, "I'll make the tree a gown my- 
self!" 

He wove a robe all snowy white. 
Prom frozen mist, with ice-fringe bright. 
And the i)retty tree, in her new gown 
were best. 

— Eleanor Smith. 



The Weaver of Rugs 

Tlie Weaver of Rugs has dreamed a 
dream 

And brooded the summer through; 
With tender love he's plotted his theme 

And now His dream's come true. 

He's spread His carpet over the hills. 

Soft is its silken sheen 
Of red and the color of daffodils. 

Of rose, and orange and green. 

And a patch of blue reflecting there 

The color of autumn skies; 
Tiie pattern vague, but beyond comjiare 

Are these clear, mysterious dyes. 

Its knotted warp in the ground below. 

Holds close its shimmering pile. 
The Weaver of Rugs has dreamed it so. 

And this is its Maker's smile. 

Tiie Weaver of Rugs has dreamed a 
dream 
And brooded the summer through 
Over the forest, field and stream 
And now His dream's come true! 

— Beatrice Reynolds. 



The Weaver 



Mrs. Hasbrouck Delamatei- 
Though winter snows are deep and 
white, 

And winter fields are bare. 
And ice is on the little pools. 

And frosty is the air, 
And days are dark with wind and storm, 

And nights are thick with gloom, 
A weaver sits among the trees 

And plies the luisy loom. 

She works upon a ground of green. 

The violets clustered blue. 
And golden crocuses inwrought, 

With beads of silver dew. 
The rose of dawn, the russet brown 

Upon the thrush's wing: 
'Tis Nature weaving in the woods 

The fabric of the Spring. 



The Singing World 

By the Bentztown Bard 
The whole earth is quiet and at rest: 
they break forth into singing. — Isaiah, 
xiv. 7. 

I saw an old fellow, with one arm and 

lame, 
With a bundle of papers to sell, but so 

game. 
Why, in spite of his wrinkles of trouble 

and care, 
And many a strand of snow-white in his 

hair. 
His eyes twinkled brightly, he shifted 

hLs load. 
And crying his papers went down the 

highroad. 
He had seen better days, but he wasn't 

a shirk — 

And he sang at his work! 

A little child passed me whose eyes 

seemed to tell 
A tale out of torment and sorrow of hell: 
Her wan cheeks, forgetting how ruddy 

they'd been. 
Were pale with the hardship of hunger, 

and thin; 
She hurried to toil, she was earning her 

bread, 
And she lifted her heart with a toss of 

her head. 
Forgetting the' darkness of life and its 

murk — 

And she sang at her work! 

I saw an old farmer bent over a plow, 
With the wrinkles of labor and age on 

his brow; 
His voice had grown weak through the 

toil of the years, 
But his eyes shone with smiles, not with 

shadow and tears; 
He yelled to his horses as lusty as 

youth, 
And plowed up the field as if plowing 

up truth, 
With nothing to harm him and nothing 

to irk — 



, And We sang at his work! 

I came by a mill where the spindles 

were roaring, 
And many pale women by the huge 

looms were pouring, 
And standing all day in their places to 

wind 
The spools and the shuttles, for women 

must find 
Some work at something to help in the 

strife 
That keeps the red wolf from the door- 
ways of life; 
But these seemed as gay as sweet maids 

of the kirk — 

And they sang at their work! 

Oh. this is the wnrld of the singers, I 

say. 
The singers of toil at the hardships of 

day, 
That find in hard labor the sweet of 

content, 
That go to their tasks with a double in- 
tent — 
Of toiling and slaving, if such thing.«! 

must be. 
But keeping up heart and a sound I)it 

of glee. 
And looking at life with a quip and a 

quirk — 

And they sing at their work! 



I Am the Way 

Art Thou the way Lord? Yet the way 
is steep; 
And hedged with cruel thorns and 
set with briers 

We stumble onward, or we pause to 
weep. 
And still the hard road baffles our de- 
sires. 

And still the hot noon beats, the hours 
delay. 

The end is out of sight — Art Thou the 
way? 



Art Thou the way, Lord? Yet the way is 

blind! 
We grope and guess, perplexed with 

mists and suns; 
We only see the guide-posts left behind. 

Invisible to us the forward ones; 
The chart is hard to read, we wind and 

stray, 
Beset with hovering doubts — Art Thou 

the way? 

Art Thou the way, Lord? Yet the way 
is long! 
Year follows year while we are jour- 
neying still. 

The liml)s are feeble grown which once 
were strong. 
Dimmed are the eyes and quenched 
the ardent will. 

The world is veiled with shadows sad 
and gray; 

Yet we must travel on — Art Thou the 
way? 

Art Thou the way. Lord? Then the way 
Is sweet. 
No matter if it puzzle or distress. 

Though winds may scourge, and blind- 
ing suns may beat. 
The perfect rest shall round our weari- 
ness. 

Cool dews shall heal the fervered pulse 
of day; 

We shall find home at last through 
Thee, th6 way. — Susan Coolidge. 



A Seed by the Wayside 

E. C. Baird 
The pilgrim paused on his weary way. 
And planted a seed at the close of day: 
I'lanted a seed by a garden wall. 
As the sun went down — and that was« 
all. 

Many came where the flower grew. 
And enjoyed its fragrane; but no one 

knew — 
No one knew who planted the seed; 
No one witnessed the sunset deed. 



One came that way in bitter grief, 
Lingered awhile and found relief; 
Found sweet relief in flowing tears, 
And forgot the burden of the years. 

Another came, all steeped in crime. 
Paused and pondered for a little time. 
And then he left, no more a knave, 
But to plant a flower on his mother's 
grave. 

A maiden came with blushes red, 
Tempted the path of shame to tread; 
But the flower nodded and seemed to 

say: 
"You'd better be true to the uphill 

way." 

Thus the pilgrim slept in his unknown 
grave. 

While the flower its beauty and fra- 
grance gave, 

Pointing the way from the dust and sod 

The way that leads to Home and God. 

2521 St. Joseph Ave., St. Joseph, Mo. 



Our Childhood Home 

We think of home, our childhood home, 
And long to wander there once more; 
And walk the paths that we have trod 
With friends and loved ones gone before. 

To meet around the old hearthstone. 
And there to kneel in fervent prayer. 
And worship through God's only son. 
With those beloved, who once were 
there. 

To hear again our mother's voice 
As oft we heard in days gone by; 
How it would make our hearts rejoice, 
How it would dry the tear-dimmed eye. 

But never in that home again 
We'll meet the friends we had on Earth; 
But, in that Home where Jesus reigns. 
We'll meet them there with joy and 
mirth. 



The Two Ways 

What though the path is sometimes 
rough? 

There's many a smooth place too; 
Maybe the load is hard to bear,' 

But burdens help us grow. 

AYhat if the clouds are dark today, 

The sun will shine again; 
There'd be no flowers or fruit or grain. 

If there should be no rain. 

There is no smooth and easy way 

To I'each the mountain top, 
And all the wide, enchanting view, 

Is missed by those who stop. 

The rugged road is the common way. 
So why complain and scowl? 

Best cheer each other as we go, 
And grin instead of growl. 

The upward path, God's own high-way. 
Where all his saints have trod, 

Is often steep and hard to climb, 
But leads at last to God. 

— Mrs. A. S. Brown. 



The Rustle of the Corn 

The gleaming knives are swinging in 

the valleys of the morn. 
And. oh, what sweeter music than the 
rustle of the corn! 
The drying blades that rattle 

And the silken tassels gay 
That top the shocks with beauty. 
While the winds around them play. 

The shocks are rows of wigwams on the 

fields of harvest dream. 
The singing of the cutters of the corn is 
like a gleam. 
The golden ears are heavy 

As they droop upon the stalk. 
And, oh, the magic music 
Of the fairies talk! 



Crows are waiting stately by the forest 

edge to sweep 
Among the garnered harvest when the 
shadows are asleep. 
Through the morning stealing, 
In the twilight softly borne, 
How beautiful the music 
Of the rustle of the corn! 

Tonight the moon will glory all the 

world of autumn's spell 
With feet of silver dancing on the hill 
and in the dell. 
The banjoes will awaken, 

And the merry songs will ring. 
But give me just the music 

That the blades the harvest sing! 

Give me just a music, as it echoes 

through the morn. 
Of silken, soothing beauty in the rustle 
of the corn. 
The shocks in stately grandeur, 

And the world of mist and gleam, 
A world of mellow glory 

In the noble bloom of dream! 
— Folger McKinsy, in Baltimore Sun. 



My Pilgrimage 



I've traveled many a weary mile 
Along life's rugged road; 
I soon will reach my journey's end 
Where '11 lay down my load. 

Day by day I'm nearing home. 

That home of joy above. 

Where sin's dark curse can never come. 

Where all is peace and love. 

Some of my friends have gone before. 
And some will follow on; 
We soon shall meet on Canaan's shore 
When life's bright crown is won. 

There I shall rest forever more. 
My pilgrim days all past; 
My suff'ring and my sorrows o'er, 
I've reached my home at last. 



Christ Will Come for Us 

Christ will come for us when life's la- 
bors are done, 

When the battle is fought and the vic'- 
try is won, ' 

And will take us with Him to His home 
up on high 

Where sin cannot enter the sweet by 
and by. 

By faith we look forward to that glori- 
ous day, 

When suffering and sorrow shall all 
pass away; 

And sin and temptation annoy us no 
more. 

And we meet with our loved ones who 
have gone on before. 

As pilgrims and strangers on Earth we 

now roam 
Away from our father, away from our 

home; 
But we long for that Land where the 

ransomed will sing 
Praises to Jesus, our Saviour and king. 

And there with our loved ones we'll 

join the refrain, 
And talk of redemption again and again; 
And praise our dear Saviour who came 

from abov^, 
Sent by the Father through infinite love. 



Our Heavenly Home 

Our Home is in the Heavenly Land 
Where we shall join the ransomed band 
And live forever more; 
And sing around the throne above 
The songs of Christ's redeeming love 
With those who've gone before. 

In that blessed Home there is no night. 

For, Jesus always is the light 

Of those who enter there; 

And sin and death can never come 

To mar the beauty of that Home, 

That Home so bright and fair. 



No sorrow shall we ever know 

In that bright world to which we go 

Redeemed by Jesus' blood; 

Our trials there will all be past, 

And in that Heavenly Home at last 

\Ve'll live with Christ the Lord. 

We'll talk of all the wondrous grace 
Of him who died to save the race 
From sin and death and hell; 
^Ve'll praise the Lord from day to d:j,:/. 
Who is the truth, the life, the way. 
While in that Home we dwell. 

We'll make the arch of Heaven ring 
With praises to our Saviour king 
Through all eternity; 
And in that Land where none can die. 
We'll greet our loved ones by and I;:/, 
And his dear face we'll see. 



I Love Thee, Blessed Jesus 



I love thee, blessed Jesus 
Because thou first loved me, 
And left thy Home in glory, 
From sin to set me free. 

I love thee, blessed Jesus, 
Thou friend of sinners, lost, 
Who gave thy life a ransom 
Upon the cruel cross. 

I love thee for thy mercy 
Which thou didst show the race; 
I love thee for thy meekness, 
Thy gentleness and grace. 

I love thee for thy promise 

To guide me on the road 

That leads unto that blessed Home 

Where I shall live with God. 

And when my days are ended 
And I, thy face shall see, 
I'll love thee more than ever 
Through all eternity. 



The Love of God to Man 

O, the love of God, our Saviour, 
To the world of sinners, lost; 
He did give His son to suffer 
And to die upon the cross. 

Man was lost, O, sad condition. 
Lost in folly and in sin; 
But the Father in His mercy 
Sent His son The lost to win. 

And he came, the man of sorrows. 
Scorned, rejected by His own; 
To redeem a world from sinning 
He did leave His Father's throne. 

Can we ever know the suf'ring 
And the awful agony, 
VVJicn he died for man's salvation — 
Died to set the rebels free. 

I.iisten to His earnest pleading, 
As he hung upon the cross. 
Saying, Father, Oh forgive them. 
For, they know not what they do. 

O, you angels, high in glory. 
A.s you Qhant your melody, 
Can you tell the love of Jesus, 
WHiich He showed on Calvary. 



Thanksgiving Day 

The little wistful memories, they woke 

with me today 
Amid the pale-lit primrose dawn that 

streaked the snow-clouds gray. 
For when the first wan light appeared 

upon my chamber wall. 
The little wistful memories, they waked 

me with their call. 

Across my frost-ferned window-pane a 

hint of wood-smoke sweet, 
Adown the hallways of my heart the 

tiny, stirring feet 
Of dear and lost Thanksgiving Days. 

like children's ghosts astray. 
And little wistful memories that woke 

with me today. 



The little eager memories, they crowded 

at my board, 
They stilled the kindly stranger-voice 

that blessed our simple hoard 
With low and half-heard whisperings in 

. tones of other years, 
That thrilled my trembling heart-strings 

through, and stung my eyes to tearK. 

The lighted room grows strangely dim, 

and through my lashes wet 
I see in all its older cheer another table 

set; 
Oh, present dear Thanksgiving joy, with 

heartache underscored. 
And little eager memories that crowd 

around the board! 

The little pleading memories, I heard 

them where they crept. 
When warm upon the wide-armed 

hearth the dying fire-glow slept; 
They slipped small fingers into mine, 

and watched, while dimmed and 

gray, 
There paled the last red embers of each 

past Thanksgiving Day. 

God, while here for present good I 

bring Thee grateful praise, 

1 thank Thee, too, for all the joys of 

old Thanksgiving Days; 

For voices stilled, and faces gone, in liv- 
ing presence kept 

By little tender memories that sought 
me where they crept. 

— Martha Haskell Clark, 
in "Scribner's Monthly." 



For Jesus 



We will sing for Jesus 

All day long. 
And will gladly praise him 

With our song, 
F'or he has redeemed us 

By his blood 
And is leading onward 

Up to God. 



We will work for Jesua 

Day by day 
And will follow Jesus 

All the way 
To his home in glory 

Up on high 
Where we'll live forever 

By and by. 

We will live for Jesus 

Here below 
And will tell the story 

Where we go, 
Oi" his love and kindness 

To the lost 
And of redemption and 

What it cost. 

When our work is ended 

We will bring 
Loud hosanna praises 

To our king. 
Then we'll live with Jesus 

That dear friend 
Then our bliss and joy will 

Never end. 



Welcome New Year 

I (to not know, I cannot see, 

What God's kind hand prepares lor me, 

Nor can my glance pierce through th« 

haze 
Vi^hich covers all my future ways; 
But yet I know that o'er it all 
Rules He who notes the sparrow's fall. 

I know the hand that hath me fed, 
And through the year my feel hath Ifd: 
I tcnow the everlasting arm 
That hath upheld and kept from harm. 
I trust Him as my God and Guide. 
And I know that He will still provide. 

Sf> at the opening of the year 
I banish care and doubt and fear. 
And, clasping His kind hand, essay 
To walk with God from day to day; 
Trusting in Him who hath me fed. 
Walking with Him who hath me led. 



I know not where His hand shall lead, 
Through desert wastes, o'er flowery 

mead; 
'Mid tangled thicket, set with thorn, 
'Mid gloom of night or glow of morn; 
But still I know my Father's hand 
Will bring me to His goodly land. 

Farewell, Old Year, with goodness 

crowned, 
A hand divine hath set thy bound. 
Welcome the New Year, which shall 

bring 
Fresh blessings from my God and King. 
The Old we leave without a tear. 
The New we hail without a fear. 

— Anon. 



A Harvest Song 

After the plowing and sowing. 

After the burdens and heat. 
After the seasons of striving, 

Cometh reward that is sweet; 
Cometh the rest-time we merit, 

When labor is not in vain, 
A time to laugh and be merry. 

Singing the harvest refrain. 

After the battle of effort. 

After the sigh and the tear, 
After the watching and waiting, 

The time of reaping is near; 
When the deeds and seeds bear fruit- 
age 

Cometh a time to be glad; 
After the trouble is over. 
Time to forget we were sad. 

After the planting and tending. 

Long after the fruits mature, 
Cometh sweet rest for the weary. 

And peace for those who endure; 
A time for rejoicing cometh. 

Then laugh, and thy youth prolong — 
Toil's recompense is in reaping. 

When cometh sweet rest and song. 

— Margaret Scott Hall. 



The Voice of the Brave 
Americans in France 

The Country that is free 
Is the Country for me; 
And I will have no other one; 
I will fight for this right 
With my God-given might, 
Till the glorious work is done. 

I press forward each day 

In the midst of the fray 

That the flag of freedom may wave 

Over nations oppressed 

And peoples distressed 

Because of the wrongs of a knave. 

So onward I will go 

Driving back the mad foe 

That have marred the beautiful land; 

My life I freely give 

That the nations may live 

Together in one happy band. 

And when the war is past 

And I come home at last 

To live with my loved ones again, 

The whole world will be 

Safe from all tyrany. 

Per the people forever shall reign. 



Anxious to Fight 

We are waiting for our orders to go to 

France and fight; 
For, we long to see the Kaiser and his 

army put to flight; 
We'll give them such a threshing that 

they'll never more design 
Te venture out of Germany, beyond the 

River Rhine. 

They thought to rule the world; but we 
will show them their mistake 

And let them know that we are fighting 
for liberty's sake; 

We will never sheathe the sword till the 
vic'try is complete. 

And autocracy lies forever at the peo- 
ple's feet. 



We will fight for humanity till the vic- 
tory is won, 

Then shout to all the race that the glo- 
• rious work is done: 

That our purpose is accomplished, and 
all men now are free 

To follow the star of Hope, and work 
out their destiny. 

And when the world is freed from autoc- 
racy's dreadful blight. 

And nations are ruled by justice, and 
not human might; 

War drums will cease forever, and car- 
nage will be no more. 

For there will be one royal brotherhood 
from shore to shore. 



Longing for the Day 

By Frank L. Stanton 

I. 

She says, when she's a-thinking 

Of the far times that have been — 
When we hear the Night Wind calling 

Like it's wanting to come in: 
"It's lonesome — it's lonesome: 

The Wind has lost its way: 
It's the Wind o' the Darkness, 

Longing for the Day." 
II. 
"But why should it be sighing 

So sad-like and low, 
When stars are twinkling 'round it, 

To show it where to go?" 
"It's lonesome^it's lonesome". 

That's still the word she'll say: 
"It's the Wind of the Darkness. 

Longing for the Day." 

Ill- 
Then Day comes, with sunshine. 

And birds sing to the sky, 
And we say to her: "Grandmother, 

The Wind's forgot to sigh!" 
And she looks from Here to Heaven, 

In the dark Night's dreamy way; 
"Longing for the day, child, — 

Longing for the Day." 

— The Atlanta Constitution. 



No One Ever Trusted the 
Saviour in Vain 

1 will trust In the Lord as long^as I live 
For food and for raiment which to me 

he will give, 
For, he sendeth the sunshine and send- 

eth the rain, 
And no one ever trusted the Saviour in 

vain. 

I will trust in the Lord to cleanse me 

within, 
And save me from death and save me 

from sin 
Through the blood that was shed to 

wash away stain. 
For, no one ever trusted the Saviour in 

vain. 

I will trust in the Lord to guide me 

along 
The road that is traveled l)y the sanci- 

fied throng 
To the Land where they know not a 

sorrow nor pain, 
For, no one ever trusted the Saviour in 

vain. 

I will trust in the Lord till life's latest 

breath 
When he come* to go with me through 

the valley of death. 
And then with the ransomed I forever 

will reign 
Because I have not trusted the Saviour 

in vain. 



Awake, O Church of God! 

"Awake, awake, O Church of God! 

Comes now to thee the call 
Of Christ, thy Lord, who bids thee on 

Till every foe shall fall. 
What though the hosts of darkness 
stand, 

Their last fierce battle make? 
The Victor, Christ, he summons thee; 

O Church of God, awake! 



"O Church of God, lose not the day 

What now has come to thee; 
A world, awaking from its sleep,- 

Is waiting light to see. 
On -heathen altars fires burn low. 

Forsaken temples are; 
Now, now advance, let idols fall, 

And Christ be known afar. 

"The fathers heard; they followed fast. 

And eager met the foe. 
The prison's chain, the dungeon's gloom. 

And drank the cup of woe. 
With faith-cleared eye they saw the 
Lord, 

The meaning of His cross: 
For mankind's sake, for Jesus' love. 

All things they counted loss. 
"The toil and labor of the years. 

Let these not be in vain; 
Haste, reap where others sowed in tears. 

And weary served in pain. 
Thy sons, thy daughters ready are 

To dare for Jesus' sake; 
O golden Hour! what call is thine! 

O Church of God, awake!" 

— Selected. 



We Will Sing in Heaven 

When we've crossed death's chilling 

river 
To the mansions bright and fair. 
We will live and sing forever 
With the loved ones over there. 

Yes, we'll sing the song triumphant? 
Death, O, Death, where is thy sting? 
Christ will bring us home to glory 
And his praise we'll gladly sing. 

There we'll sing the loud hosanna 
Unto Jesus Christ our King; 
He, who gave his life a ransom. 
We, his praise will gladly sing. 

There we'll join the angel choir 
And to Christ our tributes bring; 
Let this thought our souls inspire? 
That his praise we'll ever sing. 



I Go to Prepare a Place for 
You 

A mansion for me the Saviour prepares 
Where I shall be free from soi'rows and 

cares;! 
And there in that Home I will ever more 

dwell 
And join with the angels his praises to 

swell. 

He has promised to take me to himself 

on high, 
To his own blessed Home? the sweet 

by and by 
Where I shall praise him who came 

from above 
And bask in the light of his infinite love. 

And there with the loved ones who have 
gone on before 

To the Heavenly Country, where parting 
Is o'er 

I shall behold the sweet, loving face 

Of him who redeemed me by his won- 
derful grace. 

.So I am waiting for Jesus to come 

And take me with him to his own Hap- 
py Home; 

And in that Land where death is un- 
known 

I'll worship the Lamb who sits on the 
throne. 



Life 

It isn't the victory that counts, lads. 
It's the way that you put up the fight. 

It isn't the path that you go, lads, 
As long as you travel it right. 

It isn't the goal at the top, boys, 

That counts when the journey is 
through; 
But the fellows you've helped on the 
road, lads, 
That in the balance tell for you. 



It isn't the pace that you go, lads. 
It's the way the fellow climbs, bit by 
bit. 
Who plods when the others are first, 
lads, 
Yet stays when the others have quit. 

It isn't the smile of the victor, 

That weaves golden stars for hla 
crown, 
But the twisted old grin that he gives, 
lads, 
To the fellow who smiles when he's 
down. 

It isn't defeat that wiy count, lads. 
Or the things that we gain, you and I; 

But the way that you shoulder your 
fight, lads. 
And lived when you wanted to die. 

It isn't the things that we do, lads. 
If we win, or stumble or fail. 

But the heart that we've brought all the 
way lads. 
That will count at the end of the trail. 

— Edna Jaques in 
Seattle Post Intelligencer. 



Make Others Happy 

Scatter sunshine everywhere you go. 
Bless and cheer the lonely in this world 

below: 
For, the days are passing, passing swift 

away, 
Do not wait a moment: do it while you 

may. 

Oh then be in earnest while on earth 

you live. 
Speak the words of kindness and much 

of joy give; 
For, the friends you meet you may 

meet them never more 
Till you meet them o'er death's river 

on th' eternal shore. 



Scatter Howers of beauty all along their 

way, 
Fill with joy and gladness every passing 

day; 
For, when cold in death, you^ shall see 

them lie, 
You will think of it if you have passed 

them by. 

But, when before the throne you and 
they shall stand, 

Gathered to the judgment with the ran- 
somed band. 

It will give you joy in that awful day 

If you have scattered roses all along 
their way. 



On Heathen Fields 

On heathen fields no crosses show 
Among the flowers as they grow 

To mark the graves of those who die; 

In gloom their woeful spirits fly 
Because no Christian felt their woe 
On heathen fields. 

Our sins have laid the nations low 
Beause we Christians would not go 
And take the hope of gospel light 
To save them from eternal night 
And lift the b'urden of their woe 
On heathen fields. 

The starving throng on heathen fields 
To ev'ry Christian now appeals. 

The bread of life we hold in trust — 
And shall we save them? Yes we must 
Today, just now, hear their appeals 
On heathen fields. 

We owe this service to the lost, 
It makes no difference what the cost. 
The task is ours to help, to save; 
No more break faith with God who 
gave 
His Son to die to save the lost 
On heathen fields, on heathen fields! 

— J. H. Henderson. 
Windom, Texas. 



The Father's Love 

Across the cloudless, sun-kissed golden 
•west 
The luster of the dying day is shed. 
Soon o'er the tired earth the midnight 
calm 
Will spread her soft, caressing wings 
instead. 
I will not try to pierce with weary eyes 
The dark that marks with silent 
bounds today, 
Or read the message of tomorrow's 
skies, 
Or meet the duties of the dawn's first 
ray. 

It is enough that in my Father's hands 
The burdens of an untrod day should 
rest; 
Enough to know that if I trust His love. 
No day, however dark, can be unblest. 
For He who marks the swallow's track- 
less flight, 
And guides its course, o'er hill and 
valley, home, 
Will keep in perfect peace His trusting 
child. 
Nor ever leave me friendless and 
alone. 

For He who marks my way knows just 
how weak 
The faltering feet that in that way 
must tread, 
And He alone must be my guide and 
strength. 
For He alone can conquer fear and 
dread. 
So I will leave tomorrow in His hands, 
Content to do His will just for today. 
And feel, through light or darkness, 
day or night. 
His love will lead me safely all the 
way. — Selected. 



Thoughts: A Prayer 

"For my thoughts aie not your 
thoughts saith the Lord." 

The hammer thoughts, 

That pound and shatter peace. 

The rodent thoughts, 

That gnaw and will not cease, 
dressed 

Could not tell whether leaves or enow 

The brier thoughts. 

That pull and prick and scratch. 
The rover thoughts. 

That I can never catch. 

The serpent thoughts, 

That leave their lairs at night. 
The shadow thoughts. 

That dim the new day's light. 

These are my thoughts. 

Oh, take them. Lord, I pray, 
Out of my heart. 

And cast them far away. 

And in their stead 

Give me those thoughts of Thine, 
So crystal-clear. 

So holy, high, and fine. 

That 1 shall grow. 

By their pure grace enticed, 
Worthy to think 

The lovely thoughts of Christ. 

— The Christian. 



The Course of Human Things 

The love that rose on stronger wings, 
Unpalsied when he met with Death, 
Is comrade of the lesser faith 

That sees the course of human things. 

No doubt vast eddies in the flood 
Of onward time shall yet be made, 
And throned races may degrade; 

Yet O ye mysteries of good. 



Wild Hours that fly with Hope and 
Fear, 
If all your office had to do 
With old results that look like new; 
If tliis were all your mission here, 

To draw, to sheathe a useless sword, 
To fool the crowd with glorious lies, 
To cleave a creed in sects and cries. 
To change the bearing of a word. 

To shift an arbitrary power, 

To cramp the student at his desk, 
To make old bareness picturesque 
And tuft with grass a feudal tower; 

Why then my scorn might well descend 
On you and yours. I see in part 
That all, as in some piece of art. 

Is toil co-operant to an end. 

—In Memoriam. CXXVIII 



Baby Grace 



The sweetest thing in all this world 

la Baby Grace. 
The sunniest smiles I ever saw 

Are on her face; 
The most mischievous twinkle ever seen 

Is in her eyes; 
She seems to think that life Is fair, 

And seldom cries. 

She's like a golden sunbeam fair 

Within our home. 
Life seems to have a sweeter charm 

Since she has come; 
She rules with undisputed sway; 

'Tis bondage sweet 
To do her bidding when she calls. 

With willing feet. 

We watch her day by day unfold, 

A blossom rare. 
Some cunning way, some added charm, 

Are always there; 
She smiles and coos as playfully 

As any bird; 
Her laughter like a babbling brook 

Is ever heard. 



The -dimples in her rosy cheeks 

Play hide and seek 
"With that one in her little chin, 

Demure and meek; 
The smiles like April sunbeams play 

Across her face. 
The sweetest thing I ever saw 

Is Baby Grace. 

— New York Observer. 



Passed On 

(In memory of those who fell in the 
world war.) 

They are not dead, not really; they are 
living, 

Leading their columns as they led be- 
fore. 

Leading their comrades up to heaven's 
door. 

They are not dead, not they! 
Why, they are giving 

Strength as they gave it on the battle 
line. 

Courage to do the hardest task, and fine 

Manhood to meet the test. * ♦ * 

They were our best — 

They and the ones they led" into the 
fight. 

They were the ones who challenged ter- 
ror's night. 

They were the men who won at last to 
rest. * * * 

They are not dead, not really; they are 
striving, 

Just as they did on earth, across the 
way; 

And we must show them that we are re- 
viving 

Visions of all they suffered — yesterday. 

We who are left must keep their spirit 
glowing. 

We who are left must keep their mem- 
ory clear, 

We who are left must feel that they are 
knowing. 

We who are left must feel that they 
can hear. 

— Margaret Sangster. 



The Sweetbriau* 

Oyr sweet autumnal western-scented 

wind 
Robs of its odors none so sweet a flower. 
In all the blooming wastes It left behind, 
As that the sweetbrier yields it; and the 

shower 
Wets not a rose that buds in beauty's 

bower 
One half so lovely; yet it grows along 
The poor girl's pathway, by the poor 

man's door — 
Such are the simple folk it dwells 

among; , 

As humble as the bud, so humble be the 

song. 

I love it, for it takes its untouched 

stand. 
Not in the vase which sculptors deco- 
rate; 
Its sweetness all is of my native land; 
And e'en its fragrant leaf has not its 

mate 
Among the perfumes which the rich and 

great 
Buy from the odors of the spicy East. 
You love your flowers and plants; and 

will you hate 
The little four-leaved rose that I love 

best. 
That freshest will awake and sweetest 

go to rest? 

— John G. C. Brainard. 



Life's Common Things 

The things of every day are all so 

sweet — 
The morning meadows wet with dew; 
The dance of daisies in the noon; the 

blue 
Of far-off hills where twilight shadows 

lie; 
The night, with all its tender mystery 

of sound 
And silence, and God's starry sky I 
Oh, life — the whole of life — is far too 

fleet. 



The things of every day are all so 

sweet. 
The common things of life are all so 

dear — < 

The waking in the warm half-gloom 
To find again the old familiar room; 
The scents and sighs and sounds that 

never tire; 
The homely work, the plans, the lilt of 

baby's laugh; 
The crackle of the open fire; 
The waiting, then the footsteps coming 

near; 
The opening door, your handclasp — and 

your kiss — 
Is Heaven not, after all, the Now and 

Here? 
The common things of life are all so 

dear. 

— Alice E. Allen. 



About What to Think 

Oh think of the Father, Who loved ua 
so well 

That He gave His own son to save us 
from hell; 

Of His wonderful love and His marvel- 
ous grace, 

And how sweet It will be to look on His 
face. 

Oh think of the Saviour, who died on 

the cross 
And arose from the dead to ransom the 

lost, 
And has gone on before to prepare us a 

home, 
Where we from His presence shall never 

more roam. 

Oh think of that day, when in judg- 
ment we'll stand 

(Will it be on the left or on the right 
hand?) 

To be judged for the deeds that in life 
we have done. 

And receive the reward that is due ev- 
ery one. 



Oh think of that Home, where no ill 

shall betide; 
Of Heaven above, where the saints shall 

abide 
Forever and ever with Jesus their king. 
And join in the chorus his praises to 

sing. 

Oh think of the friends who have gone 

on before, 
And are waiting for us on yonder bright 

shore: 
They are free from all sin, from sorrow 

and pain, 
And soon by and by we will meet them 

again. 



The Christianas Hope 

Oh how sweet it will be to meet by and 
by. 
In the land where death never comes; 
Our friends there to greet in that home 
up on high. 
From which we shall never more 
roam. 

We are journeying on to that land day 
by day 
And soon we shall reach its bright 
shore; 
We are led by our Saviour — The truth, 
life and way. 
To where we shall sorrow no more. 

Our lives will not end, and the grave's 
not their goal, 
But we'll live on and on ever more 
In the mansions above — the home of 
the soul, 
With loved ones who've gone on be- 
fore. 

We will live in that City whose streets 
are of gold 
And whose walls are jasper so rare; 
And whose pleasures and joys have 
never been told. 
Whose gates are eternal and fair. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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